Atonement
by I'veGotAnotherConfessionToMake
Summary: Dearest, the story can resume. The one I had been planning on that evening walk. I can become again the man, that with the clarity of passion, made love to you in the library. I will return. Find you, love you, marry you and live without shame.
1. Chapter 1

Atonement

_Atonement_

By: I've Got Another Confession to Make

**DISCLAIMER: let it first be known that I am receiving no monetary gain from this fiction, and that the characters, settings and everything pertaining to Harry Potter belongs to J.K. Rowling, Warner Bros, and all others, including the publishers. The title **_**Atonement**_** was borrowed from Ian McEwans novel of the same name, along with certain themes and scenes, all of which are used without monetary gain. **

**ONE**

**ATONEMENT (n.) 1. Satisfaction or reparation for a wrong or injury. 2. Amends, reconciliation; agreement.**

**Year 2057**

It's been sixty years.

Sixty years of pain, and struggle, torment and pleasure, love and hate. In all of her seventy six years of life, she'd never felt the need to write as clearly as she did in that moment. The feeling that just maybe if she were to write those fateful seconds down, it would give her some form of release from these long years of anguish. It itched at her fingers, clutched at her heart and begged for the voice she had stifled so hatefully on that night when she was sixteen and stupid; when all she saw was betrayal and hurt and not things for the way they were. The truth in a single touch.

She sat heavily on her velvet window seat, cradling her chin in the palm of her hand, exhaling deeply as her memories came upon her tenfold, in a way she had never felt them before. Torment. Betrayal. Unrequited love. And love so profoundly requited it almost brought tears to her eyes at the horror to which she had first handedly caused. The deaths on her conscience.

Flashes of pictures in time bombarded her whenever she closed her eyes. A flicker of soft, tan skin. A pale hand in chestnut locks. The shadowed library where it had happened. His blue eyes when she had told him, her ultimate betrayal. A moan, so deeply sensuous she'd felt embarrassed by merely being present to hear it.

When at last the final image passed by her irises, her eyes opened, immediately blurred with unshed tears and her breath hitched in her throat. The pain never slackened.

Why had she been so stupid? Would she ever feel better about what she had done? Would the pain always be there, lurking? Would she always dream of them, on that night, in the library? She didn't _want_ that, didn't _need_ that. She had her own pains, and longings without adding the pain and guilt of _them_.

She resented them for that. For always cropping up and ruining what little of a life she still had. For invading her dreams, for making her life hell.

But when she thought about it, she _allowed_ them this invasion of privacy, perverse or not.

It was only later, after the anger had subsided, and the sadness had returned that she was graced with a revelation that, after years, no longer surprises her.

They didn't do it on purpose. The dead never did.

**1997**

"Every true, eternal problem in an equally true eternal fault, every answer an atonement, every revelation an improvement." – Otto Weininger

It was night, close to midnight and the halls were unusually crowded. The match that had started at eleven that morning had just ended five minutes ago. Her classmates were anything but tired as they trekked to their respective common rooms, eagerly sharing their opinions on the game.

Her brown eyes were heavy as lead, but her mind was as active as ever, keeping her from falling asleep on her feet.

Mandy Brocklehurst, a seventh year Ravenclaw, was in front of her, Mandy's shrill voice grating on her nerves and echoing round her head. She felt a murderous rage building in her chest with every word that spilled from her fellow Ravenclaw.

They were on the fourth floor, just coming to the library when Mandy started laughing hysterically, even clinging to her friend, both girls in peals of laughter. And suddenly, she understood spontaneous murder. But she was sixteen: too young to go to prison, so instead of wringing Mandy's neck and ridding Hogwarts of one of its many annoying blonds, she found herself slipping through the library doors and into a silent haven.

She'd never been in the library at night, had never _wanted_ to, but at that moment she knew why people found such great solace here. Dark shadows played over the walls and shelves from the dimmed lamps and she found herself drawn to the darkness, like a moth to the flame. She loved the dark, craved its solidity and the way it hid what she didn't want exposed. Her many dark secrets.

The foremost shelves were dim, but she could still see the outlines of her hands, the details of the butterfly her best friend had tattooed on her skin in class. For reasons she couldn't decipher, she found her craving for the darkness insatiable and took off at a brisk walk through the shelves, winding and winding, making turns until she was farther and farther in, farther than she'd ever been before, farther than she would guess anyone had been before, quite possibly even Hermione Granger. Past sections she had never before seen, or even heard of, into uncharted territory, into the unknown. It was painfully obvious that no one had been this far in ages. The books near cried with their unuse and solitude, their brittle pages lost to the eyes of students.

A thick dust covered most of the shelves, books and floor. She sneezed twice in a row, the sound reverberating throughout the vast room.

The room started to grow steadily darker and her body began to relax, the headache Mandy Brocklehurst had been so kind as to bestow on her, ebbing away into nothingness. She felt her pleated skirt chaffing her thighs; her heavy school robes felt oppressing, but she dared not to take them off lest they be found and give her away.

The farther she went into the room, the darker it seemed to get, but, also, just ahead there was a light, dim enough to make her pass it off as the sudden transition her eyes made from light to sudden dimness.

She could no longer hear her schoolmates out in the hall. All there seemed to be was a deafening silence broken only by her footfalls. Roaming deeper into the library, she briefly wondered how big the room actually was, fearing that someone could have been trailing her, deeper and deeper into its depths without her knowledge. The shelves seemed larger, more menacing, here in the dark, looming feet over head, causing her to feel surreally like Alice in Wonderland. Her imagination getting the better of her, she found herself running down the aisles, following each curve, zigzagging randomly, farther and farther until she came upon a dead-end and a scene so horribly personal, so ardently betraying, she was frozen in shock.

**-x-**

She already belonged to someone. She had a boyfriend, if one could really call it that, and could bet anyone all her smarts and books from her personal library that she was going to marry him one day. Yes, she, Hermione Jean Granger, who didn't find the logic in believing in Fate, truly and one hundred percent knew that she would one day walk down the aisle and say "I do" to one Ronald Bilius Weasley. How bleak her future seemed.

So what was she doing here, pressed quite uncomfortably into one the many bookshelves in the library, a male body between her legs that most definitely didn't belong to Ron Weasley, eliciting emotions from her that she had never before felt at the apex of her thighs? But somehow, that didn't matter. Ron Weasley was the farthest thing from her mind.

No, as far she knew, Ron Weasley was just another face in a sea of people.

To be honest, she wasn't really sure as to how, exactly, she had gotten in this position, but had to admit that it wasn't completely unwanted.

It had started innocently enough, a burning hatred shared between two people, two hormonally charged teenagers; Hermione was amazed that it hadn't happened sooner. All her life she'd gotten the hate/love speech about how closely linked they were and all that jazz, but she put about as much stock in falling in love with someone she hated, such as Draco Malfoy, then she did the Fates. Because, let's face it, the chances of her falling in love with Malfoy were next to none, in her eyes.

The first incident had inadvertently been the beginning to a _very_ sordid love affair gone horribly awry. He'd been teasing her, something she should have been used to by now, but, for reasons unknown, were causing her to tear up as though she were still eleven or twelve, back when his biting remarks as to her hair, teeth and parentage were still fresh and hurtful instead of just plain annoying.

His face was screwed up in anger, or quite possibly, this is what he looked like when completely and utterly happy, but either way, he looked incredibly angry at the moment, at her, which was just getting to be more and more apparent when she asked, no, more like begged, for him to stop.

And suddenly, his taunts and jeers hadn't seemed like anything remotely degrading, hurtful or anything to fear as the sudden realization that he had her pressed against the wall, his face mere centimeters from her own. His eyes were icy, she decided, staring up at him, neither of them saying a word.

Whenever she thought of Draco Malfoy she thought of Antarctica. Insanely cold, unconquerable, and extremely isolated, a place where nothing could possibly live and survive, not to mention dead. But to feel him against her now, to have his hands on her bare wrists, she found him warm, inviting in a way she didn't think was exactly school kosher in any way shape or form and very much so alive.

He seemed just as surprised as she to find them in this position, but didn't release her, move back or loosen his hold on her lest he be considered weak, or something equally ghastly. She could feel his hot breath on her mouth, coming forth in angry bursts, warming her lips and sending her heart into spastic convulsions.

"What are you doing?" She questioned, her voice drowned in the rambunctious beating of her heart flooding her ears.

At first it appeared as though he hadn't heard her, or maybe that he was choosing to not hear her, but finally his eyes shifted, betraying life and curiosity, focusing on her lips and his head moved slightly from side to side. "Granger."

His voice was so different from anything she had ever heard from him before. Deep and soft. Without malice, the one emotion she thought he was completely able of harboring. Emotional, but without greed, his second best feeling. The very sound of it made her already spastic heart beat even faster, skipping beats and causing her head to become fuzzy. What was happening to her? Why hadn't she shoved him away from her, like she should have done from the very beginning?

Somewhere so very far away, her mind registered the fact that they were very much so out in the open, and that her classmates were close by, their voices heard but intelligible. His thumbs began rubbing the backs of her hands, eliciting shivers up and down her arms.

"What?" She breathed, confusion creeping up on her, its bony fingers gripping at her insides.

She knew that he was about to kiss her; she could feel it in her bones. Hermione found herself leaning closer to him though her brain told her that the action it would induce would bring more pain than pleasure. He brought a hand to her neck, tracing her necklace with a laziness she suddenly found alluring. Hermione vaguely remembered feeling the sudden sensation of her necklace coming loose and slipping down her skin, before someone called out

"Hermione!"

Malfoy let go of her so quickly, backing away till he was almost touching the opposite wall. Hermione found herself on the floor, her robes up around her thighs as Harry and Ron and Ginny came into view, the middle of the three red in the face, staring right at Malfoy, the very bane of his existence. Ginny, on the other hand, was focused solely on Hermione still sitting on the floor, her legs exposed far more than any man at Hogwarts had ever seen, her lips slightly parted and red as if she had spent a great deal of time biting them, and her eyes fixed only on Malfoy, a wild gleam about her.

"What is going on here?" Harry, ever the thinker, asked, his wand drawn but held stiffly at his side as though he were prepared to blast the blond Slytherin into the next century if need came. Ron on the other hand had his wand drawn and aimed, having had already come to the conclusion in his mind that Malfoy had been about to violate his best friend, girlfriend, future wife and mother of his children.

Ginny knelt down next to Hermione and pulled her to her feet, smoothing and straightening out the older girls' robes herself. "What happened?"

"I-I don't know…" Hermione replied truthfully, her eyes now staring pointedly anywhere but at him. "He was teasing me… I think…"

"What do you mean, you think? Don't you know?" Ginny asked loudly as Malfoy said something to Ron and Harry and walked off down the hall without a backward glance, his fists balled, something gold and shiny clenched in his right hand. Hermione immediately reached up to find her neck bare, but unable to say anything about it.

_Let him keep it…_

**-x-**

What the _fuck_ was he doing? It was one thing to _fantasize_ about shagging Hogwarts' Leading Prude senseless against a wall of his choice, preferably in Slytherin territory where no one would neither question nor curse him, not to forget cause a scene. It was an entirely different matter to actually act upon that fantasy, even going as far as to _steal_ her necklace to ensure the possibility of future encounters.

Running a shaky hand through his hair, Draco was surprised to find her necklace still clenched in his shaking hand. He had thought about stealing it, acted upon it, and now was walking through the halls with the evidence out in the open for everyone to see. The Charger pendant gleamed up at him, its ruby eyes burning something into him. _Traitor_. Draco balled the necklace up and stuffed it deep into his pocket, his grey eyes sweeping the area for any and all on-lookers who would question his erratic behavior and Gryffindor paraphernalia that had been clenched in his hand.

Once he was far enough away and could no longer hear Deedle Dee and Deedle Dum questioning Granger and her persistent answer of "I don't know" Draco stopped walking and leaned against the closest wall, covering his face with his hands.

What the _fuck_ was he doing? That seemed to be the question of the hour. Hermione Granger didn't even like his very _existence_ let alone the fact that he had now acted upon a stupid fantasy and stolen her necklace, a fantasy he, might he add, shared with just about the entire male portion of the school. So what if he had pinned her against a bloody wall and _almost_ kissed her. He hadn't when it came down to it. He'd just _wanted_ to. Badly. Practically polar opposites.

He could feel the Charger pendant burning against his leg, singeing him of his shame. Dropping his hands from his face and at his side, he pulled the necklace from his pocket and let it rest in his open palm. Tracing his finger along the outline of the golden lion, he swore he'd get the chance to finish what he started. Or at least, give her back the necklace.

**-x-**

All day and virtually all night he lay awake with the thoughts of what had _almost_ happened between him and Hermione Granger. His roommates were sleeping, some, like Crabbe and Goyle, snoring loud enough to take the paint from the walls, had there even been any.

He couldn't stand this. It'd been only _hours_ and yet he was craving more and more, more than merely touching and stealing a necklace could sustain. Right then and there he swore to keep to his earlier promise. He'd get Hermione Granger. A taste to slacken his lust couldn't hurt.

**-x-**

He'd cornered her in the library, quite suddenly, yanking her out of the crowd of their peers and dragging her into the depths of the shelves farther and farther, leaving only a trail of footprints behind.

"Malfoy let me go! Please!" Hermione said, pulling at her hand half-heartedly.

"Shut it, Granger!"

Past shelves of history and mythology, science and potions until some time later they came upon a dead end in the maze of shelves, an alcove with a suspended lamp, dimmed, to light the small area. The orangey glow covered everything. His hair looked bronze.

Her eyes were running over her surroundings, everything but him. He released her hand, staring hard at her face. Finally, her eyes came to rest on him and she took a step back from the sheer intensity of his gaze. Silence stretched around them. Hermione shuffled her feet, sending dust fairies up to dance on the shafts of light cast by the lamp.

"You've felt it too, right?"

He hadn't meant to say it out loud, but couldn't very well do anything to invalidate the question without making himself into even more a fool. Hermione licked her lips; his eyes were drawn to the action.

"Feel what?" Her voice betrayed her, shaking and suddenly she seemed close to tears.

Draco took a step forward, and Hermione took one back, continuing this until she was against a shelf. Her eyes were now glistening.

"It's been there for weeks, maybe even years, Granger. You can't honestly tell me you don't feel it. That you never have."

She did feel it. A part of her _had_ always been aware of it, lurking just behind her subconscious so when she went to bed she dreamt of him, or their encounter, spinning it around so that instead of fighting they were kissing or something even more passionate that made her wake with a cold sweat and a slick wetness over her sex. It was what made her question whether or not the whole hate/love thing were really true or not, and sequentially, the Fates.

"Yes, I know exactly what you mean," Hermione whispered, her eyes searching his face for the typical malice such a declaration of weakness would evoke.

"I felt it most, earlier, in the hall," he continued, this time more confidently, his voice softer, coming ever closer. This time she didn't back away, or even attempt it. Hermione could feel the heat of his body against her own, she reached out and brushed the tips of his fingerswith her own; he didn't pull away as she had previously thought. "Didn't you feel it then?"

"Of course I felt it. I've always felt it." He was so close now Hermione could see almost every one of his long black eyelashes. Her heart beat faster than it ever had before, including every one of her near death experiences with Harry and Ron.

"Always," Draco reiterated, now so close, her hot breath warmed his mouth. He reached over and took one of her small hand in his, massaging the back with his thumb. He lent in towards her and covered her lips with his own, pressing into her soft body, shoving her back into one of the dusty shelves. She seemed compliant, if not a bit hesitant, winding the fingers of her free hand in his hair, pulling gently at the strands as if unsure. He pulled away just as suddenly as he had lent in.

"What's the matter?" She breathed, her lips red and swollen.

"There's something else, isn't there?"

Her lips closed. She looked flummoxed, as though his question, the clear establishment that he had meant _someone_, made her think about Ron, something she had been avoiding since he had so forcefully pressed her into a wall, and just now when he had reawoken a part of her body she didn't know existed, He released her hand, bringing both of his to cup her face. He could see it in her eyes, the way she felt at that exact moment. Her confusion and annoyance. Her cheeks were warm, dusted with a soft orange glow that caused her blush to seem deeper than the color of the skin of a strawberry.

Daringly, he moved towards her again, briefly considering the fact that she might slap him or shove him away. But she didn't. She met him half-way, drawing her arms around his neck, pulling him closer until they seemed molded together. With slight apprehension, their tongues met and it was then she made a sighing sound which, he realized later, marked a transformation.

How strange it seemed then, that this girl, whom he felt he had known his entire life, this _enemy_ he had been more than willing to kill, would be the one he desired? It felt awkward; their tumultuous past hindered them this intimate act. But her sigh… that sound he had always considered so intimate, so personal, was enough to spur him on. He shoved her roughly into the shelves, wordlessly guiding her feet to the lower shelf and pushing her robes up round her waist. She, in turn, clawed at his shirt and trousers, tearing off buttons in her haste and biting at his skin, drawing shuddered gasps from him. Taking his lower lip in her mouth, she bit down hard, eliciting a moan. Their kissing became more desperate.

His fingers found her sex, her most sensitive area, brushing against the slickness with feather-light caresses. Her head slammed back, breaking their kiss, at the sudden sensations that engulfed her. He moved to her neck, biting at the tender flesh where her pulse throbbed wildly.

Again, she was tugging at his trousers, unbuttoning them and reaching her hand inside, stroking the length of him, until he, himself, were trembling at her touch. Fumbling, he unbuttoned her shirt, kissed her fiery skin, his fingers kneading her breast through her bra, teasing her. She slipped the strap of her bra from her shoulder, shoving his face down between the valley of her breasts. He found her nipple easily, drawing it into his mouth and biting down on it. She gasped; her fingers pulled at his hair.

And finally, they were strangers, having crossed a point neither had ever thought they would reach. She was inexperienced, but both were too self-less to care.

The act itself was easy. He removed her knickers; she clasped her hands behind his head as he released his sex from his trousers; both didn't break eye contact as he guided himself into her. She gasped, turning her head away, biting hard on her lower lip.

They were still for moments that could have easily been days, hours, minutes or seconds. He brought his right hand up to her face, brushing a curl back behind her ear. She turned to look at him, softly whispering his name, his given name. He loved the way it sounded coming off her tongue. He said hers, a word with new meaning.

"I love you," She breathed, stressing the second word.

He nodded his head slightly, as if he already knew. "I love you."

They began to make love against the shelves. The quietness of the library spurred them on, they lost themselves in it. She felt a pressure building, knowing that he felt it too, and kissed his lips, moaning deeply from the back of her throat. He returned it.

He was reaching the peak, about to topple head over heels into that open abyss when she suddenly became quite stiff, pulling away from him as far as the library shelf would allow her.

"Someone's coming!" She hissed in his ear. And then he, too, heard it; the sounds of someone running and right for them. He dared not move. He brought a hand to her face, running it across her cheek and into her chestnut locks. She kissed him then, one filled with promise, before he thrust into her once more, intending to finish what he had started. She moaned from the unexpected movement, the waves of pleasure it brought.

From behind him, he heard a gasp and Hermione pulled back once more, looking off over his should at whomever had found them. Her eyes were dark with rage. Silently, he pulled out of her, instantly missing her warmth around him and began to straighten out his clothes, using his body to shield her as she did the same. Neither or them said anything, nor did they look at one another. She left first, her quick purposeful strides fading, as did she, into the darkness. He ran his fingers through his hair before turning and leaving as well, never sparing a glance for their intruder.

…

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**A/N: I read **_**Atonement**_** on the plane trip to London, Lord knew I had enough time, what with it being just over nine hours, and as I was reading it I couldn't help but imagine it as Draco and Hermione. I know I have another story going. Well, I have like three other stories going, but I had to write this one out. It's been itching at me for weeks. Oh, and it's more than a one-shot, just don't be expecting the next update to be tomorrow. I'll update this one every Monday or so. R&R**

**Oh, and I've recently gone through and just corrected a few grammatical errors that were bothering me. I don't know why I don't do this from the very beginning. It's save mucho amounts of time. **


	2. Chapter 2

_Atonement_

By: I've Got Another Confession to Make

**DISCLAIMER: let it first be known that I am receiving no monetary gain from this fiction, and that the characters, settings and everything pertaining to Harry Potter belongs to J.K. Rowling, Warner Bros, and all others, including the publishers. The title **_**Atonement**_** was borrowed from Ian McEwans novel of the same name, along with certain themes and scenes, all of which are used without monetary gain. **

**TWO**

"_Atonement is more than a mere apology. To atone is to do more than say you're sorry; it is to commit to never do it again."_

_--Marianne Williamson _

She tossed down her pen in exasperation, stretching out her fingers languidly. Her eyes hurt, her back hurt, and more importantly, her heart hurt. How was she supposed to mend the past if the past wouldn't let go of the hurt itself? Rain coursed down the window in her office; tears from Heaven, is what her grandmother used to tell her. Where _they _up there, crying? She'd never understood how, if someone made it into Heaven, a supposedly happy place, why they would be crying, but didn't dare to bring this up with her ailing grandmother.

Standing, she stretched, trying to relieve her aching muscles. All day and night she'd been writing trying to make everything just right and corrected. The one thing she had left to give them. After seventy-six years she still remembered every detail. Every sordid detail.

She ambled into her kitchen, flipping on the light switch, pointedly ignoring the faded, yellowed, disintegrating news article taped to the freezer door. It wouldn't do to see their faces looking at her so accusingly, so disgustedly, so late in the night.

Mechanically, she took the kettle from the stove and shuffled over to the sink, her slippers making _whoosh-whoosh­ _noises on the laminate floors, filling the silver pot with water. The artificial light aggravated her eyes, she rubbed them with her pointer finger and thumb. She hated feeling like this. Turning off the faucet, she turned back to the stove, placing the kettle on its respective burner before turning on the heat, waiting patiently for it to warm. As patient as a mouse.

She looked at her hands, covered in ink, imagining that butterfly Sarah Plant had tattooed just between her pointer and thumb, so when she moved her thumb just right, it looked as though the butterfly were in flight. If she tried, she could still remember the feel of Sarah's quill on her skin, poking and scratching.

The kettle began to whistle shrilly; she was brought back to the present. She removed the crying kettle, turned off the heat and poured herself a cup, dropping in a bag of herbal tea.

And now, back to work.

**-x-**

Hermione ran from the library, afraid of what she had done. And _who_ she had done it with. Oh, dear Merlin, she could still feel his lips on hers, him inside of her, the feel of his silky hair through her fingers. And she couldn't tell if she were more afraid of _wanting_ it still, or not.

She collapsed back against the closest wall, her hand clutched over her heart, willing it to calm down. Oh, what had she done? More importantly, why had she enjoyed it so much?

If only they hadn't been caught, then this wouldn't matter so much, if only they'd been more careful. It surprised her to find that she wasn't as scared of having made love to Draco Malfoy then she was of everyone finding out, especially Ron, her boyfriend. The boyfriend, who after years of being ignorant to her feelings, but his as well, had asked her to be his. Forever.

Breathing deeply, Hermione pushed off of the wall and began walking down the corridor purposefully, towards Gryffindor Tower, exuding a confidence she didn't quite feel. She'd deny it if anyone were to find out and ask. Maybe. Oh, she didn't know what she would do. One part of her said to get on her knees right there in the hall and _beg_ forgiveness. The other told her to turn around, find Draco Malfoy and shag him senseless. Someplace more private.

Closing her eyes, she pressed the heels of her palms to her eyes. Tomorrow. Tomorrow she'd figure out what to do about this predicament with Malfoy.

**-x-**

The potions room was hot, stuffy, and over-crowded with students. Hermione had seated herself at the only available seat, at the corner table at the very back of the class, far away from the comfort of Harry and Ron, in Slytherin territory. Her neighbor, none other than Blaise Zabini.

She had nothing against Blaise, particularly, other than the fact that he was in Slytherin and by default, prejudice demanded that she hate him. The handsome black boy hadn't sneered or anything she'd been expecting, merely stared at her in such a way that made her feel exposed, indecent and dirty. And judging by the look Malfoy was giving Zabini, he didn't like it one bit.

Blaise still didn't say anything to Hermione, not even after she mumbled a "hello", but neither did he cease staring at her. His dark eyes kept searching her, causing a faint blush to cover her cheeks. His eyes narrowed at it and Hermione dared to wonder if maybe he could read her mind, and knew the dirty deed she had done with one of his housemates.

Suddenly, both Blaise and Hermione jumped as Malfoy brought his open palm down upon the table, the cracking sound it made catching the attention of the whole room.

"What the _fuck_ are you staring at, Zabini?"

Blaise had turned his attention to Malfoy, but still, he didn't say anything. He shrugged his broad shoulders, sneaking another glance at Hermione who was now finding great interest in a scorch mark on the table, her chest rising and falling rapidly, her eyes staring up at Malfoy through her lashes every so often.

"Move," Draco commanded. Now Hermione was openly staring. Even Hermione who found herself some-what immune to Draco's temper-tantrums was a bit startled by his intensity.

"What? Why?" Blaise spoke, his dark eyes narrowed once more in suspicion. Draco glared at him, nearly baring his teeth at the other boy.

"Do I _need_ to explain myself to _you_?" Blaise's eyes turned to Hermione and suddenly, she saw what Malfoy saw in Blaise's intense stare. _Want._ The effect of it had her tearing her eyes away from him, her arms crossing over her chest in a vague attempt to cover herself. "Move your ass _now_."

The class was still deathly quiet, watching with bated breath. Hermione felt a flush of embarrassment rising on her cheeks. Blaise stood suddenly, taking his books in his hands with angry, jerky movements. The two boys traded positions. Their classmates erupted in a frenzy of whispers that only subsided with the presence of the Potions Master.

Hermione stared pointedly at the front of the room, the need to scoot her chair farther away from him to keep from jumping his bones the only thing on her mind as Snape began to lecture. Slowly, she concentrated on taking parchment, ink and a writing utensil from her bag and placing them just so on her work space. Beside her, Draco was doing the same, his hands shaking only slightly with his restraint. She thought of the feel of those hands on her skin and cleared her throat loudly, trying in vain to dispel the sudden flood of emotions the thought brought with it.

The game of ignoring one another was not the game she'd planned on playing, or he for that matter. He kept looking at her from the corner of his eye, watching her as she diligently copied notes, or swept a loose curl behind her ear. How he wished he could do it for her.

Timidly, he reached towards her, brushing the tips of his fingers across her thigh, shifting her skirt higher up her leg so he could feel her bare skin. She shivered but otherwise ignored him. This only seemed to spur him on. Quietly and slowly he shifted his body and stool closer to her; Hermione stopped writing but left her head bent and hand poised, staring at him from the corner of her eye with trepidation. Her heart began to do somersaults again, and again he reached towards her, his fingers drawing erotic little circles over the tops of her thighs, slipping slightly under her pleated skirt, coming dangerously close to the hem of her underwear. Lazily, she turned her eyes away, closing them before her senses came back to her, and her eyes snapped open. She grabbed his hand and shoved it away from her, glancing around to see if anyone had noticed what he had been doing.

Taking a blank piece of parchment, she hastily scribbled _Not Here_ before sliding it across the table top towards him. He took it with that same laziness he had shown previously, scanning it slowly as if he had infinitely better things to do. Taking up his own quill, he wrote his own response and shoved it back to her, looking all the more like he had considerably better places to be.

_Where then?_

Hermione had to admit that she was stumped. This was _not_ the answer she had been expecting. She hadn't even _expected_ one at all. She stared at the parchment, studying his handwriting. Before she could write a response, he'd taken the parchment back, writing furiously fast, as though he couldn't get it out fast enough, or he would loose his nerve to hand it over, or quite possibly, even both. When he gave it back to her, he didn't meet her gaze; she could swear a light blush was on his pale cheeks before he covered it with the palm of his hand. What in the world could possibly make _Draco Malfoy_ blush?

_I dreamt of you last night, dreamt of you under me, you wet, hot cunt all around me. I need you, Hermione, more than you could possibly know._

Hermione herself was blushing, the parchment held tightly in her hands. She felt herself grow warm and wet in the anticipation of what his words could mean. Draco was watching her from the corner of his eye; grey smoldering eyes.

"Miss Granger," a silky voice interrupted them, causing Hermione to jump, crumpling the note in her lap, her shaking hands smoothing her skirt down to a more appropriate length on her thighs. She was positive Snape could read everything in her eyes. Draco, however, looked unmoved, keeping his mind deceptively blank.

"Yes-yes professor?"

Snape looked down his hooked nose at Hermione. She felt an intrusion on her thoughts and attempted to build a impenetrable brick wall. But her legilimancy wasn't perfected and Snape was through the barrier like it was soft butter. Hermione stared up at him with hatred burning in her eyes as image after image, her most private thoughts were brought forth for Snape to see. This couldn't be allowed. She saw herself pressed into a shelf in the library, Malfoy's lips on the skin of her neck. The parchment, with its provocative suggestion was swimming foremost in her mind, Snape, for sure, reading it word for word.

"Enough." Snape kept going, digging deeper into her mind, surely lost in the absurdness of Hermione's memories involving his prized pupil.

"Enough!" Hermione screeched, standing from her seat and literally shoving Snape's chest, breaking the bond he had in her mind. He stared at her, shock written so blatantly on his features. The class took a collective gasp, watching their Head Girl shove the most feared teacher in Hogwarts.

Regaining her composure, Hermione sat back in her seat, briefly meeting Harry and Ron's eye and then Malfoy's, who stared at her as though she had not just done the most surprising thing in Hogwarts' history. "Enough, _please_," she whispered softly.

"Do not think that this will go unaccounted for, Miss Granger," Snape whispered, straightening out his robes. "Now, move! Change with Miss Parkinson!"

"What?" Pansy cried from the front of the class. She looked over at her new boyfriend beside her, Zane, and then back at Hermione. "I'm _not_ moving professor."

Hermione willed to every God she could think of that Snape had a heart and wouldn't make her move away, next to Parkinson's boyfriend. And for a moment, when Snape grimaced a smile, she was fearful that now she'd _have_ to start believing in a religion.

"Alright, then, Miss Parkinson," Snape said as he glided up the aisle closer to Pansy and Zane. As soon as he was away from their desk, Hermione felt Draco's hand on her thigh, smoothing its way up her skin, causing little goose-pimples to erupt. "Mr. Hurst, if you would be so kind as to move. Or it'll be one hundred points from Slytherin for your partner's sincere lack of judgment."

Zane looked torn between two terrible faults. One was angering his house by losing a hundred points from _Snape_ of all people and the other was his girlfriend, the one who would practically run his life for the duration of their relationship. In the end, Snape made the decision for him, taking the boys collar and yanking him up out of his seat. Pansy immediately began to protest, her voice shrill and whining.

Hermione began to stuff her things in her bag, crumbling the note from Malfoy on top without ever looking his way; her embarrassment was too deep, and left the table, walking to the front of the class, taking Zane's recently vacated seat. Pansy sent her a glare cold enough to chill the Arctic Circle. Snape sauntered past, obviously pleased with himself. He briefly met Hermione's eye; in his shiny onyx irises she saw an emotion she couldn't decipher, and in the end she decided she didn't want to.

Dropping her bag on the floor, Hermione pulled out her things and began to take notes again, all the while feeling his penetrating gaze on the back of her head.

**-x-**

How much more stupid could a mudblood _possibly_ get? Pansy cackled with glee, stowing her prize in her pocket as she left the potions room, Zane trailing along faithfully behind her. It never ceased to amaze her the way Zane, a relatively strong natured boy, let her treat him like a dog and an imbecile. She just passed it off as him loving her or some other bullshit like that.

"Aren't you coming to dinner?" Zane asked when Pansy stopped walking, staring at him expectantly.

Pansy sneered. "Of course _I'm_ going to dinner. But aren't _you_ forgetting something?"

Zane looked truly baffled. His blue eyes kept shifting from his insane girlfriend to the Great Hall. He could already smell the turkey and mash, even hear it calling to him. "Uhm…"

Pansy stomped her foot like a child. "My bag, Zane! Take it downstairs for me. Now."

"But," Zane protested, gesturing towards the hall. "We're _right there_!"

"I don't give a shit where the hell you _think_ we are. My bag. _Now_."

Zane snatched the bag from his girlfriends shoulder and disappeared down a winding staircase leading to the dungeons.

Once he was out of sight, Pansy rushed out of doors, pausing in the gardens next to the greenhouses to read her prize. She had it in her mind that it was the bookworm's homework and it made her all the happier to know that she had quite possibly stolen a piece of paper that would give Hermione Granger her first zero. The thought made her laugh again.

With shaking hands, Pansy un-crumpled the paper, narrowing her eyes in confusion that it wasn't homework, or even notes from class on the inane and pointless. She looked at the two sets of handwriting, one small, cramped and in uniform straight lines, Hermione Granger's. The other she was positive she'd known her entire life. Draco. The man she was still in love with. Secretly, of course.

Eagerly she read through the note, her confusion mounting until she came to the very last written entry where one word in particular stood out. Her eyes widened and in her anger she nearly ripped the note in half, straight down the middle. She screamed in fury, stomping her feet and kicking out at an innocent rose bush situated by a bench. A couple of second years passing by quickened their pace to a run, looking down at the ground.

CUNT

Rage consumed her. How _dare_ Draco Malfoy even _think_ about another girl, _especially_ Granger, a girl he reputedly despised? How _dare_ he?

Pansy stormed out of the gardens and back into the school, bypassing Zane who watched her retreating figure in wonder. She flew up the stairs to the fourth floor where she ran into a sixth year Ravenclaw on her way down, probably to the Great Hall for dinner. Pansy took her upper arm and dragged the girl to a darkened alcove, ignoring her cries of protest. The girls watery brown eyes were round with fear, having been dragged, quite forcefully, by a seventh year Slytherin into the dark. It spelt trouble.

Pansy sighed and released the girls arm. "What's the _worst_ word you could _possibly_ think of?"

The Ravenclaws face morphed into confusion. "What?"

"Oh, come on, I thought you Ravenclaw's were _smart_?" Pansy took a couple of deep calming breaths, counted from one to ten before repeating her question slowly, as if talking to someone incredibly stupid. "What's the worst word you could possibly think of?"

Again, the Ravenclaw looked confused as to why she was being asked such a question, but didn't say anything other than, "Uhm…"

"Look," Pansy said hurriedly. The Ravenclaw took the proffered note, wadded into a ball with trepidation. This wouldn't have been the first time a Slytherin had played a practical joke on her. When her hand didn't explode or anyone jump out from behind a statue screaming "GOTCHA!" she opened the piece of paper, reading quickly over the words.

"Well?" Pansy asked, her arms crossed over her chest and shiny black shoes tapping on the floor.

"Hermione, as in Hermione Granger?"

"No, Hermione Bonaparte, yes, Hermione Granger! How many other 'Hermione's' do you know in this place?"

The Ravenclaw looked up at Pansy from the tops of her lashes as if to ask, "Are you serious?" "Who's the second set of writing? Do you even _know_?"

"Of course I _know_ who it is!" Pansy retorted. "It's Draco Malfoy! He was practically raping her with his eyes in class today!"

Pansy watched the other girl's face, waiting for a reaction of any kind of proportion.

Finally! Here was the evidence she needed! This was what she could use to show Professor Dumbledore what she had seen happen last night in the library. Draco Malfoy attacking Hermione Granger, Hogwarts Leading Lady. Oh, the Fates were on her side, that much was for certain! She clutched the paper in her hand and took a step closer to Pansy who took one back in turn.

"You'll never believe what I saw yesterday, in the library, after the match!"

Why was she telling _anyone_ this, let alone Pansy Parkinson? No one really _needed_ to know. Hermione's innocence wasn't one to parade about in gossip. It was just rude and uncalled for! But she found herself leaning in even closer to Parkinson, who in turn, did the same, retelling the tale, adding bits and pieces she was unsure had even really happened, but the more she said, the more she added and added, until the picture she had painted for one Pansy Parkinson was so far stretched from the truth, it pained her. She didn't usually lie in such a manner. At all. She never had before. But the image that Malfoy had forced her, Hermione, against her will, even _hit_ her, made it more plausible. After all, Hermione Granger would _never_ think of, even _consider_, doing intimate things _willingly_ with her enemy? Right? No, Hermione Granger would fall on her knees, proclaiming everything she possibly could for saving her from her attacker, that much was certain.

Pansy's mouth was hanging open by the end of her tale. Her thin, pink lips forming into a smirk and soon after a disgusted sneer. Pansy crossed her arms over her chest, looking down her pointed nose at the Ravenclaw.

"Are you lying to me?"

"No!" The Ravenclaw denied, startled at the sudden change of demeanor from Pansy. "I swear. Why would I make something like that up?"

"You people always have something against us Slytherins," Pansy countered, and the Ravenclaw had to admit that the point _was_ valid; every house hated Slytherin. She was even positive that most Slytherins hated other Slytherins. The Ravenclaw held her chin up high, refusing to back down like a _dog_ to Parkinson.

"Why don't you ask Draco Malfoy for yourself, then?"

**-x-**

Pansy couldn't believe that she had allowed a Ravenclaw to outsmart herself into pursuing Draco and asking him for the truth. The whole truth. Nothing but the fucking truth! She swore to herself she'd find that nuisance of a being and wring her pale little neck the next time she saw her. Unless what she had told Pansy turned out to be true, in which case, she'd still inflict bodily harm for having made a fool out of Pansy Parkinson.

Draco wasn't in the dungeons, common room or his dormitories. It was too early for him to be at dinner and she highly doubted that he'd be caught dead in the library at such an hour. If only she had some kind of locator, or spell that would accio him to her. Not that she hadn't already tried that.

So here she was, randomly roaming halls, growing more and more positive that she wasn't going to find Draco tonight, especially at the rate she was going. She looked around herself, startled to find that she had no idea where she was. Hogwarts was a massive school, but she prided herself on having been _everywhere_.

Turning around, heading back the way she came, Pansy stopped dead in her tracks, when a classroom door, some fifty yards ahead, swung open and she heard two voices, the second speaking in a tone she'd never heard him use before. Quickly, she hid herself behind a nearby statue of a disfigured witch and watched the scene with bated breath, her rage growing until everything she saw was painted red.

**-x-**

He'd pulled her into an empty classroom, knocking her book bag against the door jamb, spilling some of its contents onto the floor. Neither of them gave the scattered pieces of parchment a second thought.

He was kissing her, opening her mouth with his tongue, earning a moan from Hermione. Her book bag was now on the floor of the classroom, books, parchment, pens scattered in an arc from the mouth of the cloth bag. Kicking the door closed, Draco shoved Hermione against it, only breaking their kiss long enough to cast a charm that would alert them should someone be coming near.

Hermione's eyes were bright, showing him a hunger that hadn't been there the night before, one that had developed from their unfinished tryst. He captured her mouth in a heated kiss, one filled deeply with promise and longing.

**-x-**

Pansy was running as though Voldemort himself were on her tail, the Death Curse on the tip of his tongue. She'd hid in her spot watching as that mudblood looked around the hall, up and down, up and down, talking about some stupid charm, her lips red and swollen. The more Pansy had seen of her in such a state, the more she felt the intense need to murder her. But Malfoy, _her_ Malfoy, had pulled Hermione back into the room, before Pansy could expose herself, slamming the door shut as Granger giggled most uncharacteristically. _Giggled_. She knew for a _fact_ that Draco Malfoy _despised_ giggling of _any_ nature.

So as soon as the door had closed, Pansy had taken off down the hall in a sprint, straight for Dumbledore's office. It was only by sheer luck that she ran into that damn Ravenclaw, off to herself. She'd looked right scared when she'd seen Pansy running right for her, a murderous look on her visage. "What-?"

"Dumbledore! NOW!" Pansy screeched, grabbing the Ravenclaw's arm and dragging her along. Once they were both jogging at a steady pace, Pansy continued. "I saw him, I _know_ it was him!"

"You saw him?" The Ravenclaw asked, almost shocked that someone else knew, that they'd seen.

"I now what I saw," Pansy said, mostly to herself, as though trying to convince herself of what she was saying. "With both of our testimonies, they _have_ to believe us. They just _have_ to. I _know_ what I saw!"

The younger girl nodded her head vigorously in agreement as they neared the gargoyle. She couldn't remember who said the password, or what it even was, but before she even knew it she was standing in Dumbledore's office, Pansy Parkinson's hand clutching her own in a vice-like grip.

"Ladies, what can I do for you?" Dumbledore's blue eyes were narrowed slightly at them, in thought or suspicion she couldn't tell.

"Oh, Dumbledore!" Pansy exclaimed, on the verge of tears, throwing herself in a chair, her hand still clutching the Ravenclaw's wrist, dragging her behind. "Professor! Sir! It's horrible! Just horrible! Even _I_ can't fathom how he could do such a thing!"

"Do what, Miss Parkinson?" He looked between the two girls, motioning to the Ravenclaw to have a seat.

"It's Draco, sir! This horrible thing he's done, sir!" Pansy started to cry, big, fat, great wracking sobs that reverberated about the room.

Dumbledore turned his startling blue eyes on the Ravenclaw. "What is she talking about? Do you know as well?"

Pansy positively wailed when her accomplice began to speak.

"Yes, sir, I do. I saw them. The first time, sir," Her heart was pounding her deceit like a warrior's drum onto her chest. "I know it was him."

"What's happened?" Dumbledore questioned. For once in her school career, she felt that maybe her headmaster wasn't as omniscient as everyone perceived. "What has Mr. Malfoy done?"

"He attacked her, Professor!" The words poured from her. "I don't know what he would have done if I hadn't come in! He attacked her!"

Dumbledore was the very epitome of patience. He conjured a box of tissues for Pansy, effectively quieting her with the gesture. He turned back to the Ravenclaw.

"Tell me everything."

**-x-**

Within moments of finishing her tale, ministry officials had appeared and she'd repeated her story over and over, no longer questioning the truth left in it. It didn't matter anymore, she told herself, Draco Malfoy was about to get everything he deserved!

Over and over again she'd told the story until she found herself in a darkened room, a florescent lamp lit on the desk before her and lost beyond that, a man, with sharp eyes and thick eyebrows to compliment that bushel of coarse black hair above his upper lip. She stared at him in apprehension certain that he would see through her story and unearth a jealous, sixteen year old girl.

"You saw him then?" The man asked.

"Yes," She confirmed. "I know it was him."

"You _know_ it was him, or you saw him?"

Uncertainty gripped her. "Yes I saw him."

"Like you see me now?" He was testing her, she realized then.

Confidently, she said, "Yes, I saw him. I saw him with my own eyes."

**-x-**

Hermione was in her common room when a third year came running in with the news of a lifetime.

"They've arrested Draco Malfoy!"

For a tedious and extremely strained ten seconds, the common room sat in complete silence. Hermione felt the blood drain from her face, images of earlier in the classroom and the library replaced with macabre scenes of Draco rotting in a cell, or worse, his soul being sucked from his mouth.

The third year waved his hands in the air and then shook Harry's shoulder, the one person closest to him.

"Didn't you hear me?!" His voice was cracking with his excitement. "They've _arrested_ Draco Malfoy!"

Suddenly, it was as though the world was in motion again. Like a bullet everyone shot to their feel, stampeding for the door, Hermione caught behind Lavender Brown and Parvati Patil.

They raced down the corridors joining Ravenclaw and Hufflepuff and finally the Slytherins in the Entrance Hall. Voices were rebounding off the vaulted ceilings, coming back onto Hermione, who was pushing her way to the doors, tenfold. The weight of her peer's bodies pushed back against her as she tried to get out onto the lawns. The cold air hit her with such force, she felt herself fall back into the warm bodies of the students.

Malfoy had his hands bound in front of his body, flanked on either side by Ministry Officials. Tears pricked at her eyes. Dumbledore, McGonagall and Snape stood together, making a semi-circle about a third ministry official.

"What's happening?"

McGonagall turned, her hat falling precariously to the side of her head. Snape looked between Malfoy and Hermione, a knowing look in his eyes.

"Oh, Miss Granger!" It was McGonagall, running right for her. Malfoy's grey eyes were fixed on Hermione, an unreadable expression locking in their depths. "Miss Granger! _Miss Granger!_ Where are you going?!"

She was running down the steps past Snape, Dumbledore and her hysterical Head of House right for Draco Malfoy, the man accused of her rape.

His neck was cold when she wrapped her arms around him burying her face into his skin. Tears, hot and salty fell from her eyes, staining his white collar a molted gray.

"Where are they taking you? Why is this happening?" Hermione whispered, kissing his neck lightly, over and over, as if to assure herself that he was still there.

He had remained stiff throughout the whole confrontation, but as she drew away and took his face in her hands, he felt his resolve melting. Her eyes held her confusion, the unknown emotions she felt for him there in her dark irises. The two ministry officials respectfully looked away, clearing their throats, but never loosening their hold on their new prisoner. Her fingers were tracing the outlines of his face, committing him to memory.

"What's going on?"

"I've been found guilty." He finally replied, closing and opening his eyes so slowly it looked painful.

"Guilty?" Hermione asked, incredulous. She looked to the two officials who refused to meet her eye. She looked back to him, unaware of Dumbledore's presence just behind her. "Guilty of what?"

Draco swallowed thickly, his bound hands clutching her tie. "Your rape."

"What?! What the _fuck_ does that mean?"

Dumbledore's hand came down on Hermione's shoulder, jarring her back into reality. "Dumbledore! Professor, what is this madness? Look Draco-"

"We will discuss this more fully inside, Miss Granger," Dumbledore said, effectively cutting her off. "But at the moment, they need to take Mr. Malfoy away."

Hermione turned back to Malfoy, clutching his hands in her own. Tears clouded her eyes. She kept opening her mouth to say something but nothing would come out. The effect just made her look like a fish out of water. Tentatively, he reached up and wiped away her tears as best he could. "I'll be out, one day. It's not forever."

She nodded, looking straight into his eyes.

"Time to go, son," one of the officials said as the third joined them, shaking hands briefly with Dumbledore. They were walking away, towards the Forbidden Forest when her voice returned.

"Wait!" Again she was running, nearly bowling Malfoy over when she threw her arms around him.

"I love you!" Her heart felt it was going in cardiac arrest. "I love you. Come back to me."

His eyes were round and bright when the third official came to them then and pulled Malfoy back sharply by his collar. He was walking backwards, into the forest. When they reached the line, Hermione blinked, and just like that, they were gone.

_Come back to me…_

…

…

…

…

…

**A/N: I hope you like! R&R por favor!**

**Cleaned it up a bit. Hope all the grammar mistakes are gone, but if you happen to find any, feel free to send a review with where it is and all that jazz! Thanks so much!**


	3. Chapter 3

_Atonement_

By: I've Got Another Confession to Make

**DISCLAIMER: let it first be known that I am receiving no monetary gain from this fiction, and that the characters, settings and everything pertaining to Harry Potter belongs to J.K. Rowling, Warner Bros, and all others, including the publishers. The title **_**Atonement**_** was borrowed from Ian McEwans novel of the same name, along with certain themes and scenes, all of which are used without monetary gain. **

**THREE**

She hadn't stopped crying for hours, days, weeks, maybe even years. Time was just a number, a thing, that didn't matter, not at the moment. He was gone and she was here. Stuck. In a place where he couldn't come, not anymore.

Ron wouldn't talk to her; he wouldn't even look at her. She could feel his pain, his torment, every time they were in class together, at lunch, when they passed in the halls. And she couldn't blame him for that. In her heart she loved him, always had, always would, but she couldn't be the one for him to turn to, not anymore. Not when she had given away her heart, her gift, to a man who not only probably never deserved it, but would always hold it, and consequentially, her heart forever.

Gossip spread like wildfire throughout the school, every student knew something, but none of them knew the truth. They offered her words of condolence, like she had lost her favorite aunt, her father or mother, instead of a lover, a potential friend. Hermione wanted to run screaming from the school she had once held in such ardor. She couldn't stand it, not anymore. The library was no longer a place of solace, but a place of utmost torture. A place that held too many memories she was all too willing to fall into and serially into an even greater depression.

**-x-**

"Why won't you believe me?" Hermione sobbed. She was sitting in the Headmasters office, McGonagall perched on the second wing-backed chair beside her, a box of tissues in one hand, at the ready. Snape was slinking off in a corner, part of the room, but not the conversation. "He didn't do it, he didn't rape me!"

Dumbledore sighed slowly. His blue eyes slid closed and he rubbed his nose slowly, easing away the tension building just behind his eyes.

McGonagall piped up from her seat, her voice soothing and motherly, something so foreign that it didn't provide Hermione with comfort but put her on edge. "Miss Granger, Hermione, you have to understand that we have _two_ witnesses that say they saw Mr. Malfoy attack you."

"Who then? Was it Pansy Parkinson? Did you know that she's been in love with him since she first laid eyes on him? That she'd do positively anything to get with him? That she'd even kill most likely to make him be with her?" Hermione was panting, her eyes burning with hatred as she looked between the two professors she had once admired so. "Now does that change things?"

McGonagall looked at Dumbledore, who sighed, shaking his head from side to side with exhaustion.

"There's nothing we can do, Miss Granger."

Hermione turned to her Headmaster, a man she had once looked to as a father, or maybe a grand-father, someone she could always go to and count on. And now… He was old, and weak. He held nothing for her. No solace, not even a bit of consolation that she wasn't going crazy; that she hadn't imagined he, Dumbledore, would do anything for her, for anyone.

"Can't…" Hermione said slowly, looking him dead in the eye. "That's a coward's excuse."

Without another word, she got up and left the room, slamming the ornate oak door behind her. The three people left in the room all sighed, the tension that Hermione had brought with her, dissipating slightly with her disappearance.

Dumbledore met Snape's eye and nodded imperceptivly. The other man nodded in turn and left the room, his black robes billowing out behind him.

And now, all anyone could do was wait.

**-x-**

She still had nightmares about him; trapped in a cell, dingy and cold. Even though he had been out of Azkaban for more than sixty years, the very fact that she had put an innocent man behind bars was enough to send chills down her spine. The very fact that she had laid beside him every night for fifty years, could send her into nervous breakdowns.

She had almost told him, more than once, but whenever the words rested on her tongue, waiting to be spoken, he would turn and look at her and say something so sweet, something so lovely, that it would die and she would swallow the bitter words back, choking on them till she was sure that one day, quite soon, she would die from their secrets.

Once at a banquet, Hermione Granger had been there, with Ron Weasley, the man she had dated in school, and now married, holding a baby with the palest grey eyes and chestnut hair. And instantly, she'd known. And so had he. For the next year, Draco had been in a deep depression, holing himself up in his study with a bottle of whiskey, only coming out to climb into their bed, drunk as ever, to make love to her, all the while whispering a name that wasn't her own. And she would cry afterwards as he lay passed out next to her, stroking his smooth back and staring at his face. Would he never forget her?

They'd been engaged since she was nine, and he ten. Everyone was sure that his parents would choose someone destined for Slytherin, someone like Pansy Parkinson. She herself didn't quite believe it until she found herself at the end of an aisle wearing a white dress and staring up at him as she recited her vows.

She had made Dumbledore promise her that he would keep her identity secret, and had forced Parkinson to do the same, all three partaking in an Unbreakable Vow, courtesy of Snape. The ministry had simply used her testimony, never called her in to the court. But Parkinson had been called and the Malfoy's had shunned her and her family ever since.

Draco was a good man, deep down. He had faults, but so did she. Look at her; she was a walking time-bomb! Even though she knew out of law he could never leave her, she was still afraid that he would find a way.

And that, would never happen.

**-x-**

"So… I've decided to forgive you."

Hermione looked up. The correct response would have been to be surprised. In hindsight she was. But emotion had ceased to move her in any way. So seeing Ron standing before her, the tops of his ears slightly pink, simply made her blink a couple of times in rapid succession and then the lifelessness returned, dulling her brown irises into a deep obsidian black.

"That's great, Ron," Hermione said slowly, turning back to her homework spread out before her, looking at the words on the page but not reading them.

Ron's shoulders slumped. He watched Hermione clutch her head in her hands, her thumbs massaging her temples in slow circles. "Didn't you hear me at all?"

"What?" Hermione asked, looking up again. She seemed genuinely surprised to see Ron sitting beside her, as though they had not just spoken twenty seconds earlier. "Why are you here?"

"Hermione, are you OK?" Ron asked, concern taking over him. He'd first come in here with the mindset to get what he wanted and teach Hermione a lesson. But now he didn't see how he could when she seemed so out of touch. Like she had been hit hard over the head and survived only to be gifted with short-term memory loss. The professors had said that something like this might happen. He had only thought that they were joking. "Have you hit your head lately? Are there any black spots in your memory?"

"Well… Yeah, I guess there are a few… Why are you here again?" Hermione's hands were shaking, her fingers crossing and uncrossing repeatedly.

"I wanted to tell you that I forgive you." It just sounded stupid now. The moment was gone; the element of surprise.

"You forgive me?" Hermione's brow furrowed. "I don't understand."

"Well… I just wanted to say that what happened between you and Malfoy… All that's forgiven now. It doesn't matter. The bastard is right where he belongs; rotting away in a prison cell."

Hermione didn't say anything. Tears welled up her eyes but she blinked them back. Nodding, she looked down at her hands, at her fingers, twisting together, her knuckles turning an odd shade of purple. "Yeah? That's great, Ron."

He smiled slightly when she looked at him through her curtain of hair. "Yeah?"

"Yeah," Hermione affirmed. Ron leaned in towards her and captured her mouth in a kiss. She tried to imagine it was someone else's but the feeling just wasn't the same. Ron wasn't the same. She wasn't the same anymore.

He pulled away slowly, bringing his left hand up to cradle her face. He smiled once again, and then stood, walking out of the library as quietly as he had come in. Hermione bent her head, trying to hide her tears.

**-x-**

To be quite honest, she wasn't entirely sure why she tortured herself by sitting in the library day in and day out. A place that was once full of solace and comfort now held memories that still hurt to relive. She only had three more days of school. Three days and then she was free.

The glint of the diamond on her ring finger caught her eye. Who knew if they'd still even be alive to get married? In two months she or Ron could be dead. That was part of the reason she'd accepted his proposal. There was a major chance that she wouldn't have to act on it and could either walk away a free, if not deeply emotionally challenged, or die, to only have to wait for her true love to die as well to be with him. Either way involved someone dying. She wasn't sure if she minded so much it being her.

Sniffling back tears, she stood and pushed her chair in, securing her bag over her shoulder. Things would work out for the better. She would get better. One day. Eventually.

Hopefully.

**-x-**

He had two choices: Die in prison, or die in battle.

He preferred the dying in battle part. Once more he would be able to walk through the open without the worry that someone would kill him for stepping outside an imaginary bound. He would be able to breathe in the fresh air. He would be able to see her face.

Ever since he had been placed here he had tried to write her. But they screened all of his letters and the only contact he was allowed was with his mother and his father. And Heaven knew that neither of them would send Hermione Granger of all people a secret letter. In their minds she was even more of the enemy having sent their one and only child to prison for quite possibly the rest of his life.

No, he would send her the letters when he was out of here. Or maybe he would give them to her once he saw her face-to-face. Somehow… Someday…

All he had left was hope.

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**A/N: What??? I'm NOT dead??? No. Actually I'm alive and well living in NYC!!! Which is why I haven't exactly updated in a while. To which I am extremely sorry… You may get mad at me if you wish. LOL!**


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